


now was before and never after

by quietlyintoemptyspaces



Series: Spitting Image [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Body Appreciation, Body Hair, F/M, Gender or Sex Swap, Kissing, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Shopping, Stiles isn't a lady, Virginity, talks of feminism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 19:32:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/891018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietlyintoemptyspaces/pseuds/quietlyintoemptyspaces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His brakes squeal on the pavement outside Derek’s place, and he knows he’s not quiet stomping up the stairs. Somehow, Derek still looks surprised to see him.</p>
<p>It could be that his shirt is halfway off and he’s whining at Derek to do something. Not that Derek knows what to do. His eyebrows look helpless again, the book he was reading is on the floor, and he’s crouched like he’s waiting for an attack even though it’s only him and Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	now was before and never after

**Author's Note:**

> I think I've been reading too many articles on Owning Pink. 
> 
> And the first time I heard of feminism was the first time I watch Miss Congeniality. No lie. And I thought it was just a concept where women were really girly, like all the beauty queens and what not. I don't really know much about it, still, but what I've heard, I guess it's about equality, rather than woman being inferior to men, and that women shouldn't have to conform to what society views as appropriate. Someone please tell me if I'm wrong?
> 
> And because Stiles is still Stiles, I got the idea about the underwear here:  
> http://www.nerdlikeyou.com/nerd-up-your-lingerie-with-a-comic-book-bra/  
> http://www.nerdlikeyou.com/superhero-panties-the-super-hot-way-to-save-the-world/  
> (nsfw) http://www.hotstockmarket.com/g/i/18259/super-hot-girls-in-superhero-underwear-32-jpg/
> 
>  
> 
> All the rest that I found with batman on the front, rather than just the bat signal, were men's underwear, but if you want to imagine Stiles-the-girl in guys underwear that's fine. I didn't really differentiate with it, so he could be.
> 
> I have more underwear links for later parts, and that was probably half the fun in writing this, looking up all the different kinds and graphics.
> 
> The title comes from Slow Kids At Play's "Bittersweet (Pop the Bubble)".

Saturday morning brings Stiles sitting at the kitchen table, hesitating for an hour on what he should tell his dad. It’s possibly the longest breakfast of his entire life, and the Sheriff seems to know something’s bothering him, because he sits there, patient and waiting while Stiles stays silent, stirring soggy cereal with a spoon.

 

“So, um,” Stiles starts, faltering, half because he’s unsure of himself, half because he’s still not used to his new voice. “I think I might. Stay like this, I mean.” He takes a bite of cereal and immediately regrets it, pushing the gross mess back into the bowl with his tongue. The Sheriff gives him a look he’s received twelve times a day since he became a teenager.

 

“What’s the catch?”

 

Stiles looks up, wide-eyed. It doesn’t look any more innocent than it used to, and it’s kind of nice to know some things really don’t change. “What? Why would you ask that? Why would there be a catch?” The dad-look continues though, and Stiles sighs, shoulders sagging. “It depends on how you define ‘catch’.”

 

The Sheriff groans and looks forlornly at the empty coffeepot on the counter. “I’m not going to like this, am I?” He frowns, eyes narrowing at Stiles for a moment before he leans forward. “Nobody’s pressuring you into this, are they?”

 

“What? No!” Stiles jumps back like he’s been shocked. “This is…” His voice falters momentarily, and he’s suddenly nervous. “I feel close to mom,” he says, quiet. “And this feels right. I mean, if this hadn’t happened I wouldn’t have changed anything, you know, but it did happen, and I have a choice now. I can stay like this. Or not.” He bites his lip, breathes slowly. “But I don’t have that much time to decide. I’m not sure, exactly, how long I have, but we figure the sooner the better.”

 

His dad blinks at him and raises an eyebrow. “ _We_?” he stresses.

 

Stiles winces. “Yeah… I just. I had a talk. With Derek. And he’d be willing to help, if I wanted to stay like this. And I do, so I wanted you to know before, rather than after.”

 

The Sheriff shifts in his seat. “I’m not going to like this, am I?” he asks again.

 

Stiles grins. “Not one bit.” This time he bites at his thumbnail, nerves returning full force. “I’m just giving you a warning, so you don’t beg off bullets from Chris Argent and pop a wolfsbane cap in Derek’s werewolf ass.”

 

“Eloquent.”

 

“I thought so. But the whole purpose of turning me was for breeding—” and Stiles does not miss the horrified look he gets, “—so… for me to stay like this, I need to… you know, fertilize my fields.”

 

There’s a justifiably angry silence that settles over them while the Sheriff processes the information. “And Derek has agreed to—to do this, has he?” He at least waits for Stiles to nod before continuing, shoulders a tense line. “Does he know you’re seventeen? That you’ve never been in a relationship? That you’ve never had… wait, you haven’t had sex, have you?”

 

“Oh my god! Dad, _no_! I’m one-hundred-percent virgin, thank you very much. That’s why this happened, actually, because virginity is an endangered species in these parts, and apparently a commodity among the supernatural. So, really, this is a _good_ thing. Besides, if I change back, it just leaves those alien-fairy bug-people another chance to do this, only Derek might not rescue me in time to protect my virtue.”

 

The Sheriff coughs awkwardly. “Really? You’re telling me about Derek saving your virtue when he just offered to take it?” He pauses a moment. “And when the hell did this protecting happen?”

 

Stiles tries to slide his chair back, clapping his hands, but gets pinned with another dad-look. “Oh… did I forget to tell you about that?”

 

-

 

-

 

The way she dresses isn’t the reason Stiles brought Erica along with him to help pick clothes out. Mainly, he supposes, it’s because Erica understands him. Well, more than Allison or Lydia understands him, at any rate. Erica won’t make him pick out lacy, frilly, uncomfortable contraptions meant to be sexy but are really devilish devices designed to torture.

 

They make it a date, of sorts. And it’s nice.

 

“We should do this more often,” Erica says over lunch. She’s not squeezed into anything for once, and her clothes actually look like they’re comfortable to wear. She still has cleavage to share with the world, though, not that Stiles really minds all that much. Or the guys sitting a few tables away who refuse to stop staring. “So you’re really going to do it?”

 

Stiles smiles around his food. Erica got it for him and he’s not really sure what it is, but it tastes freaking amazing. “Yeah. I mean if Derek doesn’t change his mind, that is. I don’t want to force this on him, or make him feel like he has to be responsible for me or anything.”

 

Erica shakes her head. “No. He’s really nice, you know. When he wants to be. If he said he’d do it he will.” Her lips purse around her straw, eyes flickering to the guys then back to Stiles; her eyebrows quirk at him in invitation, which Stiles accepts with a smile and a nod. “Good. Because I just ordered you something that you _have_ to wear on The Night.”

 

“I don’t—”

 

Erica shushes him before he can continue. “Don’t worry. They’re just underwear, I promise, and I guarantee you’ll like them.”

 

-

 

-

 

They kiss after they’ve thrown away the trash from their lunch. It’s nothing extravagant or sparking, just a quick press of lips and a swipe of tongues. Mothers with children are probably glaring at them right now, but the guys are choking.

 

“We’re definitely doing this again,” Stiles says. “Lunch, shopping, and a show. I’ll mark my calendar.”

 

-

 

-

 

Erica follows him into the dressing room with an armful of clothes that Stiles would never wear if given half a choice. She argues with him about bras and proper tops, but at least Stiles has the final say, which he highly doubts would have happened if he came with one of the others.

 

When he pushes away the tenth bra she shoves into his face, Erica frowns and then seems to have an idea. “You know what? I think we might be in the wrong store.”

 

She leads him from store to store, searching for something specific that she won’t tell him about until half an hour later she holds up a pair of Batman underwear in one hand, and the matching bra in the other. There’s really only one thing he can say to that.

 

“See? This is why I brought you.”

 

-

 

-

 

Stiles stands naked in the bathroom as a she, the fog on the mirror making his image seem like a dream. In a way it is, because he still can’t believe it. He touches himself slowly, softly, exploring new skin that’s been his since birth, but it’s taken a new shape.

 

His hips have curve where there was none before, his wrists thinner, his jaw softer, and his breasts fit perfectly into the palm of his hands. He still has hair where he had hair before, except for on his chest, which kind of sucks because he’d actually liked his chest hair. Stiles doesn’t really know what he’s going to do, because from the one time Scott had stupidly dared him to shave his legs and wear a skirt, it hurt a lot and it was only by sheer dumb luck that he hadn’t needed a blood transfusion.

 

Or maybe he could be one of those feminism extremists, boycotting bras and shaving and other things Stiles read about once in an Adderall-induced research state.

 

He wonders how werewolves feel about the whole shaving thing.

 

-

 

-

 

He finds early on that he kind of hates wearing a bra. It’s just a minor discomfort at first, when he’s settling into his jeep. But the further he gets, the worse it feels. The rest of the clothes are fine. The jeans are new, and they fit like a second skin, and the shirt is one he’s worn a dozen times before.

 

His brakes squeal on the pavement outside Derek’s place, and he knows he’s not quiet stomping up the stairs. Somehow, Derek still looks surprised to see him.

 

It could be that his shirt is halfway off and he’s whining at Derek to do something. Not that Derek knows what to do. His eyebrows look helpless again, the book he was reading is on the floor, and he’s crouched like he’s waiting for an attack even though it’s only him and Stiles.

 

Stiles walks over to him and presents his back. “Dude, please. Do something about this. It’s like, locked or stuck or something and I can’t get it off. Shred it, if you have to, just get me out of this thing.”

 

He hears Derek laugh, because that little chuff of air was totally laughter, and then there’s a wall of heat behind him, burning fingers on the space between his shoulder blades undoing the clasp, and then touching the irritated skin beneath it. “You kind of suck at this,” Derek says, and then steps away, watches in amusement as Stiles struggles to get his bra off without losing his shirt. “Stiles, just…”

 

Derek’s hands are hot on his sides where shirt meets skin, and then the shirt is stripped away, in the air and being held by Derek. Stiles shouldn’t feel as self-conscious as he does, but they’re alone, and sometime in the near future they’re supposed to have sex together. Unprotected sex. To make a baby. So that Stiles can stay like this.

 

And it’s crazy, Stiles thinks, because they’ve never even kissed. Hell, they barely tolerate each other as it is. He’s read, dozens of times, that babies don’t necessarily make a relationship easier. In fact it’s usually the opposite, and he’s worried where that’s going to leave him and Derek, what’s going to happen after the deed is done, when there’s a baby in their life that’s a part of them both, who will need them both. How is he going to do this? He’s seventeen, he still has school, still has supernatural bad guys to deal with, and there’s no guarantee Derek even wants anything to do with him.

 

“Stiles…” Derek says, advancing slowly. The shirt is on the couch now, forgotten, and Stiles’ bra is barely covering him, hanging loosely from his shoulders. Derek’s hands find his arms, firm and steady, while Stiles silently freaks out. “Stiles. It’s fine.”

 

-

 

-

 

Derek doesn’t seem like the hugging type, and Stiles supposes he’s not, really, but she’s on the brink of tears, standing half-naked in his living room, and he’s the only one around. His shoulder is strong beneath her cheek, warm and broad and tense, but she doesn’t care. She wraps her arms around his waist, digs her nails into his shirt, and sniffles against his collarbone.

 

His hands span the bare space of her back, and after a moment of disbelief and uncertainty, he presses her into his chest and folds himself around her like a security blanket.

 

-

 

-

 

There must be something about Derek’s bed. As often as Stiles has woken up there, in the past few days alone, he wonders what it is. As far as he knows no one else has slept in here, except for Derek, and now Stiles.

 

He’s still half-naked, splayed in Derek’s sheets; his bra is on the nightstand, in all its red and blue Superman glory, but the waistband of his jeans are digging in uncomfortably. His hand is clasped tightly around Derek’s, who he’s lying beside; it’s probably the first time he’s been in Derek’s bed with him. Stiles pulls his hand free and undoes his jeans, shimmies them down beneath the blankets and flips them over onto the floor, uncaring where they land.

 

When he turns back, Derek’s awake and staring at him, watching carefully as Stiles pulls the blanket up to cover his breasts. It’s still a weird thought to have, and Stiles wonders if it ever _won’t_ be. “Hi,” he says.

 

Derek rolls his eyes and then rolls onto his back with a groan. “Hi,” he says, not a little sarcastically.

 

“How do you feel about feminists?”

 

Derek’s head cocks towards him, plainly confused. “What?”

 

Stiles shifts uncomfortably. “Um… Well, you’re the one who’s going to have to be… _intimate_ with me, right? So… Shaving. Yay or nay?”

 

“Why are you asking me?” It’s adorable, the things Derek’s face does, eyebrows scrunching and lips tilted.

 

Stiles shrugs, feeling suddenly awkward and insecure. “Well, I mean. Everybody has their preferences, right? And this is still pretty new, so I’m not really sure… about anything, really? And, and you’ve been with girls, I’m sure, so you’re experienced in things like that, so I figured I’d just ask, before I assumed anything. And I don’t really know where werewolves fall into that spectrum or whatever.”

 

Derek’s hand is on him again, a solid weight just beneath his sternum. “Breathe, Stiles.” But it doesn’t feel as simple as that. Everything feels complicated and intense and confusing. “It’s okay. Everything is fine. Whatever you want.”

 

Stiles groans. “Dude, that doesn’t help me. At all.” He turns to face Derek, and his hand goes from lying flat to curling around Stiles’ waist. “Have you shaved? And I mean something other than your face, not that you do it all that often. And not that I’m complaining. Definitely not complaining. But from my experience, limited though it may be, shaving kind of sucks.” Derek gives him a look, eyebrow arched. “It was a bet, okay? With Scott. I was supposed to shave my legs and wear a skirt. Only, I figured it be easier, though I have no idea why, to just shave everything.”

  
Derek’s eyebrows aim for his hairline. “What?” His eyes dart down Stiles’ body. “ _Everything_?”

 

Stiles huffs. “Yeah. It was stupid, but I learned that I never wanted to do it again. I mean, I know that a lot of girls do it, and guys, too, what with societal ideologies and whatnot. I get it. I mean, I already have plans to burn my bras, even though I’ve only worn one once, but I figured I’d get your input before I decided anything major.”

 

“Why would it matter? It’s your decision. It has nothing to do with me.”

 

Stiles gapes. “Uh, yeah, dude, it kind of does. I’m going to stay like this. And okay, I know it’s only going to be the once, whatever, but if you’re going to be all intimate with my intimates, _I need to know these things_.”

 

“Stiles,” Derek stresses, shifting and leaning over him. “I don’t care. If you want to shave, then shave. I’m not going to stop you. I’m not going to tell you what to do. If you want your legs to be hairier than mine, do it.”

 

“Hair—hairier than yours? Yeah, I don’t think so, Wolfman. I think Lon Chaney in costume is the only one hairier than you.”

 

Derek growls playfully – which, what? Since when does he do _that_? – and rips the blanket off of Stiles, off the bed. He isn’t expecting it, or he would have tried to snatch it back, but now instead of warm and snuggly, the cold air hits full force – and that is an interesting effect. Stiles’ hands cover his breasts, nipples hard against his palms, and Derek settles over him, tugging insistently at Stiles forearms until he moves them, holds them down next to Stiles’ head for moment to get the message across, and then takes in the body beneath him with his eyes.

 

“What are you doing?” The question comes out breathier than he’d like, but considering the circumstances, it’s understandable. Then he notices his underarms are in full view and tries to pull his elbows in towards his body but Derek won’t let him. “Um, yeah. Didn’t shave there either. Didn’t know I’d be doing this, so didn’t really see the point just yet.”

 

“Stiles,” Derek says, leaning closer until their nose to nose. “It’s fine.” And then they’re kissing.

 

-

 

-

 

It’s the second time today she’s being kissed, but she can feel the beginning of Derek’s beard against her cheek, scraping over her chin, tongue warm and wet and teasing, the calluses of his thumbs rubbing circles into her nipples.

 

Stiles arches her back into it and lets out a moan that has nothing to do with self-love and imagination. She imagines if she were still a guy that this would be twice as embarrassing as it is, what with Derek straddled across her lap. She can feel his hardness pressing through his jeans, rubbing just beneath her navel.

 

They separate for a minute so Derek can take his shirt off and Stiles can catch her breath. “Can I touch you?” she asks, hands already moving for his shoulders.

 

Then Derek starts on his jeans and Stiles stops, heart and breath and all, hands frozen in midair.

 

“Are we – are we doing this now?”

 

Derek frowns and grabs her hands, puts them on his chest and holds them there. “No,” he says. “But you’re being nervous and shy—”

 

“You mean like a virgin? Oh, wait…”

 

“I just… Look. If you’re this nervous on the day of, you’re going to be tense, which means it’s going to hurt more and you’re not going to enjoy it. There’s no use worrying about it if you’re not going to enjoy it.”

 

Stiles blinks up at him. “Isn’t that what foreplay’s for?”

 

“ _Stiles_. It’s called body appreciation. You keep covering yourself but you have no reason to be body shy.” He punctuates by marking kisses down Stiles’ neck, into the valley between her breasts, and down to where her belly is sucked in out of shock because this gentleness is unexpected. It’s not something Derek has ever bothered to show her before, shedding openmouthed kisses as he slides down her body. Into her navel he whispers, “You never have.” But she hears him anyway.

 

He slides a little further and then stops, fingers curled into the elastic of her underwear, and he glances up the length of her body with a weird quirk to his lips. “Really?”

 

Stiles shrugs. “Seriously, you expected less?”

 

“Right, what was I thinking?” Then Derek kisses the Batman staring up at him, before peeling him off and throwing him up onto the nightstand to be with his friend Superman. “See,” he says after a minute. “Perfect.”

 

Derek moves back up, presses head to toe with Stiles, and resumes kissing her breathless.

 

-

 

-

 

The next time she wakes up in Derek’s bed, she’s still naked, and Derek is still beside her, but he’s sat up, back against the wall, phone in hand, his voice a low rumble in the darkness. She can’t make out the words, doesn’t particularly want to, just turns over to press her forehead into his hip. His hand finds her hair, runs through it, even though he’s still talking, and Stiles wonders if he even realizes he’s doing it.

 

“That was your dad,” he says after a minute. “He was worried when you didn’t call.”

 

“What did you tell him?” she asks, but she’s not sure it comes out as words.

 

Derek continues carding his fingers through her hair, scratching gently behind her ear and it makes her want to shake her leg just because. “I told him you were freaking out, wondering if you were making the right decision. I told him that it didn’t matter to me, that I would support you in whatever you choose, and that you have friends who will support you no matter what. It’s nothing you shouldn’t already know.”

 

“You’re a great guy,” she mumbles sleepily, lips brushing against the hair of his thigh. “When did that happen?”

 

If Derek replies, she doesn’t hear.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not trying to make fun of feminism, or make light of it, and I hope I didn't make it seem like that. But I do think it would be something Stiles would look into were he ever turned into a girl. Or maybe even be something he looked into before.


End file.
